


Conjured

by besully (Briar_Elwood)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Elwood/pseuds/besully
Summary: "It was as if the sea had conjured that man out of nothing and then taken him back for some unknowable purpose," Flint says of the man who inspired the name. But what if there was a man the sea conjured out of nothing?John Silver is no one and comes from no where. And there's a reason for that.





	1. Existence

It was stupid to get drunk the night before taking a prize, but Flint didn’t care. His dreams had been filled with Thomas’s smile as of late, his smile drifting into sadness, and it made Flint’s heart ache. Maybe this time they’d actually be successful and find the schedule for the Urca, but maybe not. Going by their track record, it didn’t look good. So Flint downed a bottle of rum and slumped in the chair behind his desk, glad Gates had already retired for the night.

The wind whistled in the windows behind him, and he could hear the rush of the ocean below. He loved the sea. She was freedom, life, and wonder. But sometimes he hated her too. She’d taken so much and given so little back. The one thing she’d given him was the tale his grandfather told of that man Flint who’d so mysteriously appeared and disappeared. She’d given him the name, and part of Flint was grateful for it because he wanted McGraw to slip away into darkness with Thomas, but Flint was also wicked and vile. As much as he didn’t want McGraw, he didn’t want Flint either. He wanted to just be James, simple and quiet. Someone no one knew much about or paid too close attention to.

_ Just James _ , he wrote haphazardly on the scrap of paper in front of him. His writing was shaky with drink but legible. He stared at the words as they swam in his vision before growling and crumbling the paper up. In a bout of madness he stuffed the paper into the empty rum bottle and stormed out of his cabin. He stalked up to the side of the ship and tossed the bottle out into the ocean, farther than the eye could make out this late at night and with this much drink. His shoulders heaved as he glared out at the sea, his breath heavy and uneven. God, he could use some sleep.

Slowly, he turned back to his cabin and stumbled to his bed. Tomorrow they’d find the Urca’s schedule, they had to. Else he might just actually give up.

* * *

Existence starts with adrenaline.

The sound of cannons and wood splintering is all he can hear for a moment until it’s drowned out by the screaming of men. He looks around quickly, noting the chaos surrounding him, and runs below deck. There’s a door and he rushes for it, pushing his way inside.

“What are you doing?” the man already inside barks at him from the floor. He winces and slams the door shut, blocking the door.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Why aren’t you on deck with the crew?” the man, round and hair stringy with sweat, asks incredulously, getting back to his feet.

He shrugs. “I think the better question is why aren’t they all down here with us? You could get killed up there.” The yelling from above is frantic and loud.

“Oh, so you’re a coward then?”

A coward. Must be. “Yeah. You too?” It only made sense. Two cowards hiding away from the danger on deck.

“I’m no coward,” the man says irritably. “I’m a cook. I’ve no quarters to man. What do you think the captain would do if he found out you’ve abandoned yours?”

He can’t help the smile. “Well, if he’s dead, and I’m alive… I like my chances.” The entire ship rattles. The short, balding man scurries up into his face.

“You know who that is out there? That ship flies the banner of Captain Flint.”

_ Captain Flint. _ It’s the first thing that feels familiar. But not in the bad way in which the cook seems to think it should. Ah, well.

“Isn’t this your problem too?”

“Good cooks are in short supply. Even for criminals,” the cook says, unconcerned. “But you, cowering below decks, dodging a fight? They’ll gut you for sport.”

Well, that would be inconvenient. Good cooks in short supply, though, the man said? That gave him the beginnings of an idea.

There’s a loud groan from above followed by a crash and an ugly splash, and the whole ship sways to one side. He and the cook both stumble, and something falls from the cook’s grasp, rolling closer to him. It’s paper, rolled in leather to keep it safe. The familiar feeling that had come with the name Captain Flint fills him once again, but he stares too long and the cook snatches it back up.

“What is that?” he asks curiously.

“That’s nothing,” the cook says quickly, tucking the leather back in his shirt. No, that wasn’t nothing. That was definitely something.

“That doesn’t seem like nothing,” he says, getting back to his feet. “Well, maybe when Captain Flint gets here, we can let him decide.” That sounded right. Good. Familiar.

“You wouldn’t want to do that,” the cook says.

“No?” he says, amused. “Why not?”

The cook glances to his side and grabs a sword, brandishing it boldly. He takes a step back from the tip of the sword, wincing.

“Oh.”

The cook rushes at him, and he sidesteps, avoiding the edge of the blade just barely. With a yell, the cook takes another swipe at him, and he leans back before rolling over the boxes behind him. He ends up on the floor, with the cook above him, face twisted in determination, but he rolls. Getting killed this early into existence simply would not do, and the cook now seemed set on making that happen. Which meant there was only one course of action, and luckily, it went along well with his earlier idea.

The sword is stuck in the wood flooring where he’d just be laying, and the cook is yelling, trying to pull it back out. He grins and shoves the cook to the side, giving the sword a yank and whirling around. The sword goes into the cook easily, all the way to the hilt, and he lets go, letting the cook tumble to the floor. The ship rocks again, and he stumbles before righting himself and rolling the cook over to get at the leather in his shirt. Quickly, he shoves it in his coat, a convenient pocket right on the inside waiting for it. Yes, this was right. Good. Familiar.

He goes to the dark corner of the room and sits down, waiting as the noise from above goes quiet. A blast of sound and some screaming later, he listens carefully to the movement outside the door. Several times there’s a pounding at the door, and he’s almost tempted to open it back up, but for some reason that doesn’t seem like a good idea. Soon enough, the door breaks open and a bald man with a well-trimmed beard storms inside. Quickly, he gets to his feet and walks forward, hands in the air. The bald man looks pointedly at the dead cook, pistol trained steadily on him.

“Hello. He couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him,” he explains easily. “I, on the other hand, would very much like to join your crew.” Captain Flint’s crew. The bald man readjusts his grip on the pistol, looking at him suspiciously.

“My name is John Silver,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue even though he hadn’t even given it a thought. “And I happen to be a very good cook.”


	2. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of season one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short, but hopefully it's interesting nonetheless.

Now simply handing over the paper to Captain Flint would not do, John knows, especially after getting a look at the man from across the ship. No, the captain would be suspicious of John’s motives, and John needed to gain his trust by showing him that he could be a valuable asset. And the best way to do that is to threaten to sell it. It’ll show Captain Flint how resourceful he is, how shrewd he is. It’ll be dangerous, of course, but John trusts that the captain will be too intrigued by him to kill him.

When the captain slams him against the rock wall, knife to his throat and spitting fire, John finally gets the chance to appreciate the man before him fully. It’s no wonder the sea thought him worthy of the gift of John. And, really, the man being so beautiful is just a bonus.

He writes down the schedule from memory with ease. There was no chance he’ll forget a detail; that wasn’t what he was born to do.

“And when the Urca’s ours,” the captain says when John proposes his plan, “what’s to stop me from killing you anyway?”

“Well. That’s a few weeks from now, isn’t it?” John says casually. “We might be friends by then.”

He knows it’s unlikely Captain Flint will actually admit that he trusts John by that point, but if he can keep this up and make a few other moves in the process, it’s possible he’ll at least not want to kill him. And that, of course, even depends on if the captain is successful in taking the Urca.

* * *

John is content to be nobody on the crew of the Walrus. He appreciates the captain’s help cooking the pig, but the lower profile he has right now, the better. That way he can just quietly steer Captain Flint in the right direction.

He’s not exactly surprised when he finds Flint on the floor with a dead Mr. Gates in his arms. But he does know that he has to help. It’s only when Flint pushes him away from Gates’s body and quietly intones, “There’s no way out of this,” that John realizes why Flint needed him. He’d seen earlier why the sea found him worthy of her help, but finally he knows why Flint needed her help in the first place. The man pretends to be in control and stoic at all times, even when the situation is dire. But under that mask is a different man.

“Take it from me,” John says quietly. “There’s always a way.”

After Flint leaves the cabin, the quartermaster with the broken spectacles storms in, and John weaves a potential future for him so he’ll accept the dead man by the door and not make a fuss. When it fails to work, however, and the man De Groot threatens John with a pistol, it seems for a moment to John that he’s failed the sea spectacularly. After Randall knocks De Groot out, John wonders if perhaps Randall is a manifestation of the sea as well. It might explain some things about him. Quickly, he runs out to the deck, takes in the wounded captain sitting against the ship’s walls and the quartermaster’s orders to raise the sails, and decides it’s time for desperate measures.

“Who’s shooting?” Dufrense bellows angrily. John throws him a grin.

“Sorry. Had to be done.”

The fight is horrific. At first it seems they might have a decent chance. They’ve surprised the warship and the Ranger is helping. But then the warship comes about and opens fire with its hundred guns. Instantly the scene on  _ The Walrus _ becomes a chaotic nightmare. Men scream and shout, orders being bellowed from ten different directions, and blood and wood splinters flying everywhere. John tries helping one of the injured men near him, calling for the doctor, but there’s too much chaos surrounding. He chances a glance upwards and sees the captain, looking around at the scene. John can feel his despair, his hopelessness. It’s a glimpse of the same man he’d seen on the floor with Mr. Gates. When the cannon shot blows Flint off the side of the ship and into the sea, John abandons the poor man he’s trying to help and runs for the rails.

He can see Flint’s head floating above water, can feel his anguish. When his head sinks under the surface, John knows he’s given up. Without hesitation, John dives in after him.

_ He gives himself over freely, _ the sea whispers to John soothingly. John shakes his head and swims around, trying to find the sinking captain.

_ A willing sacrifice is greatly appreciated _ , the sea reminds him, but John refuses to mind her. He can still save the captain, he can still fulfill his destiny.

There. Sinking with the debris from the ship, John can see Flint. John can barely feel him anymore and knows he must act quickly. He surfaces for air briefly--ah, the confines of the human body--before diving under again, swimming with all his might to the captain’s side. The captain is already unconscious by the time John gets to him, but John wraps an arm around the man’s torso anyway and struggles for the surface.

_ Let me save him _ , he begs of the sea.  _ There’s still hope. _

The sea is quiet and unforgiving for a few moments, and John grapples with the water, trying to pull Flint to safety. And then the sea releases her hold, and John swims freely to fresh air. Flint coughs and splutters, still unconscious in his hold, but alive.

_ Remember your purpose, John Silver _ , the sea says sweetly as John drags him to the island’s shore.  _ You will not be given endless chances. _


	3. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2.

“You shit.”

John’s smile fades, and he frowns at Flint as the man walks away to sit and start taking off his boots. “Um. Beg pardon?”

“I needed a fighter,” Flint says, “someone I could count on to make a difference on that ship. What the fuck were you doing volunteering?”

Wait a minute. “I-I’m sorry,” John says. “I’m a little confused. Why wouldn’t I volunteer? If we’re to try and--” Wait just a damn minute. “Hang on.” He looks back at Flint, praying he’s wrong. “You’re serious about taking the ship?”

“What the fuck did you think?” Flint asks venomously.

Goddammit, this man was impossible.

“I thought this was how you intended to escape!” John yells defensively. It would be so easy, and then he could call his mission done. Flint huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes. Sometimes, really… sometimes John could really hate the captain.

“Sure, it would be a few days of walking or so to St. Augustine, but at least we’d have a chance!”

Flint only levels a look at him, and John looks over to the warship. “You really mean to board that ship, Jesus Christ. I’m not doing it!” Maybe he can change the captain’s mind, maybe they can still make their way to St. Augustine. “I don’t need to return to Nassau. I am happy to find some other place to survive.”

And Flint should be too. Stubborn pig-headed ass. John turns away to start his trek to St. Augustine, but Flint’s voice calls him back.

“St. Augustine is that way.”

John stops and turns. Remind him again of why the sea thought this man was worthy of its help.

“It’s at least a week on foot,” Flint continues, boots now off and standing back up. “Tequesta tribes in between. I doubt you’ll survive to see sunrise tomorrow.” He stalks over to the shoreline, past John, and John stares at the horizon like he can somehow make St. Augustine appear.

“How are you even gonna get out there with one arm?” John yells at Flint’s retreating back. He’ll need the sea’s help and, after their little adventure with her the other day, John’s not sure she’ll be willing to lend a hand. But Flint doesn’t pay him any mind, he just continues walking into the ocean, step by stubborn step. John turns away in frustration. Maybe he can convince the crew to… do what? With no Gates there wasn’t a sympathetic ear for himself or the captain in the lot of them.

Goddammit. A fucking warship. With two men. This is going to be a disaster.

The sea is strangely quiet as John swims after Flint. He can tell the captain is getting a little push from her to help with his injured arm, but he doubts Flint notices anything amiss. They reach the ship with little trouble, surfacing right beside her hull.

“Do as I say when I say,” Flint orders, “or I’ll kill you myself.”

Wouldn’t the sea just love that outcome? John watches as Flint climbs the rope, reaching for the steps to hold onto. A wave splashes over John’s head and he splutters, ready to curse the sea.

_ Trust yourself _ , she whispers, and John spares her a glare. Why wouldn’t he trust himself? All his instincts were to keep the captain safe and out of harm’s way. It was Flint’s fault for dragging them into this.

* * *

Flint asks him why he offered to help him regain control over the crew, and John thinks fast. The Urca gold seems like a good, plausible excuse. “I don’t want to earn money. I don’t want to join another crew. If we’re being honest, I don’t really want to be on this crew a day longer than is absolutely necessary.” At least that was the truth.

“Why not?” Flint asks, actually looking intrigued.

“Because I don’t want to be a pirate,” John answers truthfully. “I’m not interested in the life. Not interested in the fighting, not interested in the ships. I don’t care much for the sea while we’re on the subject.”

Sure, she’s his benefactor, his very self, but she also thinks she’s the world’s greatest gift to mankind. She’s haughty and stubborn. Very much like a certain captain, John realizes. Maybe that was the real reason she wanted to help the man. Because she sees herself in him.

* * *

Though John may have given the gold as an excuse to stick with Flint, as the situation with Vane and the situation with Hornigold progresses, he starts to worry the gold may be an unnecessary distraction. Perhaps this Lord Peter Ashe could be the answer to John’s mission, but if so, he needs Flint to be fully focused on the matter at hand, rather than a pile of gold sitting on a beach hundreds of miles away.

It becomes a tango of a sort, still pretending all he cares about is gold while trying to push Flint away from it. And then the sea hands the answer to him on a silver platter when the two men left behind to keep watch on the Urca return by longboat.

Of course, the easiest thing would just be to let the gold sit on that beach until the end of time, but the two men aren’t going to let go of the fortune that easily. So instead John spins a story for them to play out, a story where the three of them get bigger shares of the gold. That turns the men over to his side with no problem, and from there it’s just a matter of telling the lie to Flint.

He’s angry, at first, but John can see him brush it aside quickly and move on to the matter at hand. First, securing the crew and defeating Hornigold. Second, going into town to retrieve the Ashe girl after Miss Guthrie returns. Now they can be on their way to Charlestown, and hopefully this Lord Ashe will answer all of John’s problems.

* * *

In the belly of the ship with Vane at his mercy, John almost allows himself a moment of triumph. But then a voice calls out into the night, and John’s hopes and dreams are shattered.

“Pirate vessel! Pirate vessel! What follows is a message from the Lord Governor of the Carolina Colony. ‘I trusted the good faith of your arrival, and I accepted Captain Flint as my guest in the same spirit. But I now regret to inform you that he has violated that trust in a most deceitful manner. Therefore I’ve placed him under arrest. This trial and its resulting sentence will be swift, just, and final.’”

John stops listening. How had Flint violated Lord Ashe’s trust? What could he have possibly done? For a moment he rages silently at the sea. This was supposed to be the answer, this was supposed to finish his mission. Before John can even finish his wordless rant, however, Vane frees himself and the next thing John knows there’s a knife to his neck, and Vane is growling quietly,

“Now. Let me tell you what happens next.”

* * *

Why had the sea given him the ability to feel pain? Why hadn’t he just handed over those names? Why were men so cruel and unforgiving? Why, oh why, had the sea given him the ability to feel pain?

“Would you like me to clear the room?”

“Why would I want you to clear the room?” John pants desperately. The doctor rolls out his tools, and John can see them, old metal things that show no mercy. No.

Howell looks at him gently. “When the shock sets in, you may lose faculties. Some men lose their bowels. I can do it with as few as three or four men.”

Do it. Do what. What was he going to do?

“We’re not going anywhere,” Dooley declares.

“I don’t want this,” John says quickly, trying to stave off the doctor.

“If it doesn’t come off quickly, you won’t make it three days.”

Surely that had to be wrong. Surely the sea wouldn’t let him be killed in such a manner, not without finishing his mission.

“Did you not fucking hear me?!” John says, straining against the men holding him down. “I said I do not want this!”

“You’ll die,” Howell says firmly, and John hears it ring true. “This way there’s a very good chance to prevent it.”

“The crew will look after you,” Muldoon says. “Don’t worry about that.”

But John is his own. John is the sea’s. All he needs is his wits and instincts and to fucking finish this goddamn mission. He doesn’t need the crew. He doesn’t want the crew.

“Hold him down.”

“No! No no no!” John begs, but the doctor’s turned away and the crew is pressing him firmly against the table. The doctor pulls out one of the tools, hooked and ugly, and despite John’s leg feeling like it’s on fire, he can feel the cool touch of the metal on his burning skin. He struggles, screaming, begging.

“Ready?”

Why had the sea given him the ability to feel pain?

* * *

Quartermaster.

A one-legged quartermaster.

Lord Ashe had been killed, and Flint seems more determined than ever to give the world a villain they can fear. This was not what the sea had intended. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps John was always meant to fail. Stuck here on this crew with only one leg. Perhaps she had never really meant to help Flint after all. Perhaps she had meant to ruin him and had used John as a unknowing tool to do so. And then what?

He’s still here, so the sea wasn’t taking him back. He even tries jumping over the rail once, begging the sea to take him back. He was useless here, with one leg. Useless. But the sea stays silent, and Muldoon dives in after John to save him. Flint is furious.

He’s failed, and the sea won’t take him back. So what can he do? What can he do but continue to dedicate himself to Captain Flint and help him become the world’s most feared name? Play quartermaster. Learn to walk on one leg.

Live out life as a human.


	4. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3. We step away from canon beginning 3.04.

John’s never seen the sea in such a rage. Was there really that much of a connection between the sea and the captain? John can’t really convince himself this doesn’t have anything to do with Flint’s current state of being. Why the sea would rage with him, John doesn’t know, but she’s angry, and too many lives have already been lost.

Over the months John has grown close to Muldoon. The man isn’t like the others on the crew, hard and uncaring. John finds himself wondering how on earth a man like Muldoon got pulled into the account, but he nevers asks and Muldoon never tells. But Muldoon is a friend, perhaps the only friend he’s got, and John is going to kill the sea if she takes him.

“They say the worst of it don’t last long.”

John stops and makes his way back over to Muldoon’s side. He stumbles a few times, the water jostling him and the boot about. Muldoon reaches out to him, and John takes his hand firmly, holding it close to his chest.

“What the water does to you,” Muldoon continues, “once it’s got you. It makes you cold, makes you scared. It shows you things. Bad things.”

There are tears in Muldoon’s eyes, and John is gonna kill her. She can’t do this.

“But then it warms you,” Muldoon says, and John feels his heart sink. “And it settles you. It shows you the places you’ve been. The people you’ve loved. They’re all there waiting for you.”

He’s wrong. He’s so so wrong, and it makes John ache how wrong he is. But what would be the point in correcting him? He’s so scared already, telling him what drowning really is like would only make him panic more. Muldoon splutters as the water rolls over his head once more.

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” he says, and John knows he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s trying to convince John. He splutters again, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. John lets go of his hand and dives under, trying to move the cannon once again, but the damn thing won’t budge.

_ Fuck you _ , he cries at the ocean and surfaces, grappling for Muldoon’s hand again. Muldoon is flailing, cursing, the water level steadily rising.

“Wait!” John pleads desperately, to the sea, to Muldoon, he doesn’t know. The water level passes Muldoon’s head, and his other arm flails out, both grabbing desperately, trying to find something to save himself. John knows he’s screaming, fingers digging into Muldoon’s skin, but the sea is roaringly silent as she takes his only friend away.

* * *

If the sea had been angry before, John doesn’t know what to call this. Becalmed and unmoving, the hot sun searing down on them. And the captain. The captain thinks starving half of the crew is the answer, letting them waste away while John and Flint get by on full rations. After Flint kills those two men and Billy lightly threatens John about what should happen next time, John finds himself going to the sea for help, despite all she’s done to him lately.

_ You sent me here for a reason, and though I may have failed, I can still protect him. But I can’t stand by him if he insists on casting me in the shadows. I can’t take care of him if he refuses to listen. Obviously you care about the man, so let me help him. _

And that’s when he sees the whale carcass. He knows it’s long gone, they don’t float until they’ve gone rotten. But there are other creatures who don’t mind the rot, who could be feasting on what’s beneath the water’s surface. Creatures they could eat. That could save them all.

But as John and Flint row out to the carcass, John realizes that finding them food isn’t going to be enough. Like Billy said, Flint doesn’t trust him. Doesn’t see him as his equal. If only he knew how much work John had done to get them to this point. How much scheming and conniving he’d done to make things play out the way they had. Sure, it hadn’t gone to plan, and it’s not like Flint would understand if John actually told him the truth, but if he was told about what really happened with the Urca gold… well, that. That might just do the trick.

When John collapses, panting, the longboat tilted with the weight of the dead shark, he looks to Flint, who for some reason has a grin on his lips.

“Again?” he says, and John can’t help but stare. Flint was looking at him like he was an old friend, and they’d just played a good natured game of kill the shark.

Later when the wind whistles by, John can’t help but smile. Maybe he’d failed his mission, but the sea was still going to help him protect Flint. And that was enough.

* * *

“Go, please.”

The man who dragged him here walks away wordlessly, and John stares at her. There’s something about her that makes his hair stand on end, and he can’t figure out what it is. She looks at him levelly.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re her daughter.”

She stands and walks closer, each step with a purpose. Her back is straight at a rod, and she holds her head high. She’s royalty and she knows it, but John wonders if it’s something more.

“And you are their quartermaster,” she says. John nods.

“I am.”

“But you are not one of them, are you?”

John frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You may appear as one of them, but you are not,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not correct?”

“You’re… correct,” John says slowly. “But I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“My mother is one of you,” she says. “She failed her mission and fell in love instead. With a human.”

The wind whistles in John’s ears, and he can’t quite believe what she’s saying. “So you’re…”

“A half breed,” she finishes for him. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

She spreads her arms out. “Here I am. I will not ask you what your mission is, but I assume it has something to do with your captain.”

John shakes his head. “I’ve already failed.”

Her eyebrow raises again. “As long as your captain is alive you have not failed.”

John stares at her. She should be impossible. There was no way she could actually know what he was, it simply didn’t make sense. But here she was, and here she was defying everything he knew, dark and beautiful.

“I understand from your men that you were defeated in battle,” she says, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.

* * *

He does feel better, however much he hates to admit that. He won’t say it to Madi, though. He won’t give her that satisfaction.

“The burden I wasn’t prepared for,” he says instead, “it isn’t the men. It’s him. It’s my mission.”

Madi looks at him, waiting.

“What he wants, what he needs, what he fears… the depths of it… they are profound and dark. I’m afraid my mission is impossible.”

“She would not give you an impossible mission,” Madi says. “If it was impossible, she would not have wasted energy in making you.”

“But what if I’m incorrect about what I perceive her plans to be?” John says. “What if she really meant to use me to ruin him?”

“You are truly afraid of this?”

“He’s a force of nature,” John says. “You would not believe how alike she and Flint are, and I believe she knows this and hates it. I think she means to end him, to ruin him so thoroughly that no man will ever come near to her likeness ever again.”

* * *

His leg--his stump--is throbbing. Howell takes off the boot gently, but it’s still enough to make John cry aloud. The doctor helps him to the table and starts undressing the wound. John listens to the beat of the throb, staring into nothing, the image of Dufrense’s mangled head burned into his memory.

“Are you all right?” Flint asks from behind him.

“I didn’t feel it when I struck down on him,” John says, dazed. “Didn’t feel it when we made our escape, but uh… oh, I feel it now.”

The throbbing is slowly turning itself into a headache, centered on his forehead and ringing in his ears.

“I wasn’t talking about the leg,” Flint says. “Give us a moment, please.”

John stares at the wall as the men in the room file outside.

“You were right,” Flint says after a moment, moving into John’s line of vision. “About the toll it took, playing this part. Losing Miranda. The things that losing Miranda drove me to. So I know what you’re feeling in the moment.”

Was this really how Flint felt all the time? Was this what it meant to take a look inside the beast? John looks up at Flint.

“I perceived its effects on you. What I assumed was sorrow, loneliness. And worst of all the terror at the thing you were becoming. There is an element of this journey into the dark that I’m only now beginning to appreciate.”

“What’s that?” Flint asks.

John stares into nothing, shaking his head, before looking up and meeting Flint’s gaze. “How good it feels.”

Flint holds the gaze and sighs. He puts a hand on John’s shoulder, fingers curling tight around his shirt. John wants to lean into the touch, close his eyes, and wish this all away. He never expected to follow Flint down this path. He thought he was supposed to pull Flint off of it.

“Howell should finish dressing that leg,” Flint says, his voice gentle. “I’ll send him back in.”

* * *

Of all the things John had anticipated Flint saying when John asked where the war started, this was not what he expected.

“Madness is such a hard thing to define which makes it such an easy label to affix to one’s enemies,” Flint is saying. “Once it had been applied to Thomas, once our relationship had been exposed, defiled, scandalized… everything ended.”

Lord Thomas Hamilton. John’s ears ring, the name echoing over and over. This Lord Hamilton, this Thomas… he was the answer, John realizes. He had been the answer to the riddle, the final piece to the puzzle, the entire time.

But Thomas Hamilton is dead. So John had failed before he’d even begun. Before he’d even existed. The sea really had brought him into existence just to fail.


	5. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between seasons 3 and 4. Includes some of the swordplay education from 4.09.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the rating of the fic has changed.

The sound of swords clinking rings through the air. John tries to keep his eyes on Flint’s wrist and the tip of the blade at the same time, but he keeps getting distracted by Flint’s eyes. They’re hard and guarded, like John hasn’t seen in some time, and honestly it’s worrying.

The edge of Flint’s sword taps John’s shoulder, and John turns, wishing he could kick the sand without falling spectacularly.

“Fuck!”

“You’re still leaning forward,” Flint says, like yesterday hadn’t happened. He nods at John. “Let’s go again.”

John leans on the crutch heavily, listening to Flint’s footsteps in the sand. He looks out to the sea, asking permission. She seems to smile and brisk air ruffles his hair.

_ Tell him. _

“I have no story to tell,” John says, and he hears Flint’s footsteps stop. John looks at the sand and lets his sword drop. “I know it might seem as if I’m trying to conceal something from you, but… truth is… there is no story to tell.”

Flint seems to let the words sink in, and then nods. “No one’s past is that unremarkable.”

“Not unremarkable, just… nonexistent.”

Flint frowns. “You’re not making any sense.”

John laughs softly. “I have no past,” he says. “Until the day we met, I didn’t exist.”

“Are you sure you’re well?” Flint asks. “We can break for the day and start back up again tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” John insists. “I’m just trying to tell you the truth. I’m not human.”

“Well, then what are you?”

John sighs. The moment of truth. “I am a manifestation of the sea.”

Flint just stares at him.

“The sea created me. To help you. To protect you.”

“Are you mad?”

John levels him with a look. Flint shakes his head, bringing a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I’m just… You’re a  _ what _ ?”

“A manifestation of the sea,” John repeats patiently. “Conjured by the ocean.”

Flint stares at him, like he’s trying to decide whether he needs to be worried about John or not. Finally, he says, “Why me?”

“I’ve often asked myself that same question. Even asked her a few times, but she won’t answer,” John laughs. Flint frowns.

“Her?”

“The sea.”

“You talk to the sea.”

“And sometimes she talks back, yes.”

“You do realize how all this sounds.”

John sighs, but he’s still smiling. It feels like a relief to be telling the truth. “Yes, I do.”

“Why you?”

“What do you mean?”

Flint gestures at John, up and down. “You say you were conjured by the ocean. Why did it-- _ she _ decide on you? On this?”

John looks down at himself. He’s never really thought of it that way before. He meets Flint’s gaze and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Flint lets his sword slip from his fingers and takes a step closer. “Can you prove any of this?”

John’s heart drops. “I can’t. But you must know that you have my genuine friendship and loyalty. Can that be enough and there still be trust between us?”

“Trust?” Flint scoffs, and John’s heart sinks even farther. But then he notices Flint is smiling, the same amused smile he’d had that night they’d buried the cache.

“You’re telling me you were made for me, to help and protect me, and you’re asking about trust? Even if you’re crazy--which I still haven’t ruled out--you’re telling me you’ve dedicated your life to me.” Flint laughs. “I thought you were afraid of being my end.”

“I am!” John insists. “It’s hard to explain, but I’m worried the sea is jealous of you and wants me to ruin you.”

“I thought you said you were created to protect and help me.”

“That’s what I was led to believe, yes, but I’ve come to realize that seems to be impossible--whether it’s by your own doing or someone else’s, you’re always in danger.”

Flint smiles, taking another step closer. “You sound like you’re worried about me.”

“Have you not been listening? Of course I am!”

Flint’s smile widens, almost dangerously, and he keeps stepping closer. John is rooted to the spot, unsure of what the hell is going on.

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my friend, of course I care.”

“Friend?” Flint purrs, and it hits John.  _ Oh _ . Flint’s in his space now, looking at him with bare hunger in his eyes. John finds he can only stare back and wait for what’s about to happen to play out. Flint cups John’s cheek, and John leans into it, shocked by how warm and comforting it feels. And then Flint’s leaning down, closing his eyes, and… 

John has never been kissed before. Sure, there was that one time with the throng of whores back when he first arrived in Nassau, but that wasn’t the same. This wasn’t the same.

The heat of Flint’s mouth on his is overwhelming. His lips are chapped, he realizes, and that’s a little embarrassing, but Flint doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue probes into John’s mouth, and John gasps, bringing a hand up to clutch at Flint’s shirt. His balance on the crutch is growing wobbly, and he feels himself start to fall, but Flint catches him before it’s even a fully formed thought, holding him close. John lets the crutch drop and clutches at Flint with both hands. Eventually Flint pulls back--just a little--and leans his forehead against John’s.

“Now what was this about the sea being jealous of me?”

* * *

John Silver has never been high, but he imagines that it feels something sort of like this. He’s already come once, and Flint doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. Really, John would love to reciprocate, but he’s too overwhelmed by the suction Flint is applying to his inner thigh. He lets out a moan, throwing his head back as he scrabbles at Flint’s head for something to grab onto. Oh, how he misses Flint’s long hair--that would’ve been lovely. Flint grins wolfishly up at him before taking John fully into his mouth, nose nestling into the tights curls there.

“Captain…” John says through a groan, fingers still scratching at Flint’s short cropped hair. Flint pulls off with obscene pop and smirks at him.

“I think you can call me James now, you know.”

James.

John freezes, going tense under Flint’s hands. Flint frowns up at him.

“What?”

“I--I can’t,” John stammers, his head still swimming with pleasure.

“Can’t what? Call me James?” Flint kisses the sore spot on John’s thigh softly. “Why not?”

John shakes his head, gently pushing Flint off and sitting up. “‘Just James’,” he says quietly, and Flint looks up at him sharply. “That was your wish,” John continues. “That’s was the request the sea decided to try and fulfill.” He brings up his knee up to his chest, cheeks burning bright. He should’ve seen this coming.

But Flint just chuckles. “So grant my wish,” he says, crawling back up to John, kissing him on the knee.

“The moment my mission--your wish is fulfilled, the moment it comes to pass, I must return to the sea.”

Finally Flint frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means I cease to exist. I turn to seafoam and water. That’s the end of John Silver.”

Flint stares at him for a few moments, like he’s finally seeing John for the first time. “You’re truly not crazy, aren’t you? You’re really… a conjuring of the sea?”

John deflates and nods. Flint rests an arm on John’s knee, propping his chin up on his arm. “Can’t I change my wish? I wish for you, and only you…”

“That’s not how this works,” John says quietly.

“Are you still trying to fulfill this wish?”

“I don’t know that it’s possible, but I will keep trying until the day you die. It’s part of my nature.”

“So I can’t order you to stop?”

John gives him a pained look. “No.”

“Do you want to return to the sea?” Flint’s eyes are looking up at him, round and green and perfect. Something wraps itself around John’s heart and squeezes.

“No.”

Flint seems satisfied by that answer. He pulls John’s leg to the side and kisses his thigh once more. “So you can’t call me by my name, and someday I’ll either die or lose you.”

John makes a small noise of confirmation as Flint kisses further down his leg. After a moment, Flint turns his attention to John’s other leg, touch soft on the stump.

“What happens to you if I die?”

“I live out a normal human life, always knowing I don’t belong.”

“You feel you don’t belong?”

“I’ve never felt I belong, you know that.”

Flint kisses his cock, so softly John can barely feel it, but it’s enough for his body to start to get interested again.

“What about right now?” Flint asks. “Here? With me?”

“I… I’ve never felt so at home. Or comfortable,” John admits. Flint smiles and presses another kiss to his cock, harder this time.

“I guess that’ll have to be good enough.”


	6. Fulfilment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 4.

The tension on  _ The Walrus _ could be cut with a knife. He doesn’t know what else he expects, but it’s heavy in the air, pressing down on his chest. Flint is rambling on about some Bible story, and John is only paying half attention.

“Twins. As close as two things can get to being the same one, and what’s the first thing they do to each other? Fight. Over who gets to be the first one to see the light of day.”

John frowns at Flint, not sure where he’s going with this.

“And here I sit at the head of an army of men, each of whom has probably at some point considered killing the man he now fights alongside. Each of whom has certainly considered killing me.”

John smiles. “I haven’t.”

“You’re not a man, are you?” Flint replies with a smirk. “We’re so close. So very close. If we can just hold this alliance together just a little longer, if we can just will it forward just a little more…”

“Then nothing will ever be the same for anyone ever again.”

Finally, Flint looks up at him, and John sees the pain, the anxiety, the fear, and the hope in his eyes all at once. It’s beautiful.

“You and I have willed your men through unthinkable things to get this far. Why not one more? To call Nassau home again.”

“Our men,” Flint corrects, raising a hand to brush through John’s hair. “I think you can claim some ownership at this point.”

John presses into the touch, then leans forward to give James a quick, chaste kiss. James smiles at him. “For a pessimist, you’re rather optimistic.”

“Two flags on the starboard bough!”

John follows James out to the deck. When everything goes sideways, John curses Woodes Rogers and the sea because surely she has something to do with this as well. He makes sure Madi gets off the boat safely, only boarding the ladder when James is by his side. The crash of the cannon is earsplitting, and John’s heart is left behind as he flies into the water.

_ You have fulfilled your mission. _

What? No! John tugs at the boot, tangled in the rope, pulling him down steadily.

_ Rest, John Silver. You have done well. _

_ I haven’t called him James! _ John argues desperately.

_ But you see him as James. _

_ If that was all it took, why didn’t the Barlow woman count? _

_ She only saw him as James McGraw, James Flint, or even James Hamilton. Never just James. You, however-- _

_ I haven’t called him James, it doesn’t count! _

_ You think of him as just James. To your mind, he is simply just James. Rest, John Silver. Your mission is complete. _

_ And as soon as you take me away from him, my mission will have failed! _

The sea is silent, and John can’t tell if she’s considering the argument or evening her temper. The rope ladder hits the sea floor, and John tugs at the boot in vain.

_ I will think of him as Flint, I swear it,  _ John begs.  _ One more chance, that’s all I ask. _

Suddenly John remembers his knife. He pulls it out at cuts the straps of the boot, freeing himself from it, the salt water on his stump harsh and stinging. Desperation seeping through his bones as his heartbeat thuds faster in his ears, John swims upward. He takes a look at the chaos above his head and decides not to chance it. If he can get in the ship, he should be fine.

_ One more chance _ , the sea reminds him in a whisper.  _ Only one more. _

* * *

John sees movement behind the redcoats and before he can register what’s happening, Dooley, Joji, and Flint are slicing the redcoats’ necks open. John meets Flint’s gaze and can’t help but smile, even as Hands raises his pistol again.

“It’s all right,” John says, pushing Hands’ arm down. “How are we going to take Nassau? That’s how.”

With some effort, he pushes himself up and limps over to where Flint is walking closer. There are men around so John holds back from kissing Flint, but he needs him in his arms. Flint returns the embrace easily, whispering in John’s ear,

“I thought you were gone.”

John’s fingers curl in Flint’s coat, and he doesn’t say how close it really was.

On the walk back to where Flint’s made base, he tells John about what happened with Billy. John almost can’t believe it, except that he can. Then Flint turns to eye Hands.

“He’s fine,” John says easily, as they start walking again. “If you’d asked me yesterday, when he was considering selling me to the governor for a profit, I’d been in agreement we should be rid of him. But now, I don’t know. I feel like we need as much help as we can get.”

John stops abruptly when he sees the group of people waiting in the clearing. There, with her back turned to him, is Madi--the woman who shouldn’t exist. As if she can feel his presence, she turns, a blinding smile lighting up her face. John wishes he could leave the crutch behind and run to her. She looks fine, she looks well, but is she really? John limps quickly to her, leaving Flint behind, and Madi hurries to meet him halfway.

“I thought she’d taken you,” she says quietly.

“I convinced her to let me go,” John admits. “But it was close.”

Madi brushes a hand against John’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”

* * *

“Billy told me I should worry that you will be Madi’s end,” John says quickly before he can think better of it. Flint turns slightly to look at him. “That’s all he wanted in exchange for Max. For me to sit still while he warned me that your commitment to the greatest possible victory in this war of ours would consume her and eventually lead to her death.”

Flint frowns at him for a few moments. John waits, unable to tell what the captain’s reaction will be.

“Do I need to be concerned that you took almost two hours to tell me about it?” he says eventually. John looks away, up to the fort where the exchange of twenty men for Max is taking place.

“The thought of losing her…”

There’s a pause, and then, “I see.”

There’s something off in the tone of Flint’s voice, and John looks over to see if he can tell what in the world Flint’s thinking. Flint is staring resolutely at the exchange, a muscle twitching in his eye.

“Are you jealous?” John asks.

“No,” Flint says too quickly. John lets out a bark of laughter, and Flint glares at him.

“You know everyone assumes the two of you are fucking, right?”

John didn’t know that, but he’s not particularly surprised. He and Madi had become quite close back at the Maroon Camp. And he and Flint had given no indication to the development in their own relationship.

“Let people believe what they will,” John says with a shrug. “We know the truth.”

“I don’t understand why she matters so much to you,” Flint argues. John hesitates, and Flint goes pale.

“We’ve become friends,” John says quickly. “I promised her mother I’d look after her while she’s away.” It’s a lie, but hopefully it works.

“That’s another thing,” Flint says. “Why does the Queen trust you so implicitly?”

He wants to tell Flint, he really does. But it’s not his place to reveal Madi and her mother’s secrets. Not to anyone.

“You’d have to ask her,” John says. “But you have nothing to be jealous of. I swear it.”

Flint doesn’t look convinced, but he drops it anyway.

* * *

He fails her.

Somehow it feels worse than the realization that he’d never fulfill his purpose. Madi was a miracle, destined for great things, and John failed her.

He’s terrified to face her mother, but he knows he has to. He approaches her as quietly as the crutch will let him, and even then it takes him a moment before he can speak.

“I wasn’t able to say goodbye to her… so I don’t know what she would’ve wanted me to say to you right now… if anything at all.”

The Queen is silent, back to John, and he can’t tell if he’s making things worse or better. So he forges onward.

“She and I… we’d become close. So I think I have some sense of what it might’ve been.”

John struggles. It aches to speak about Madi in the past tense. He’d failed her. “She was curious,” he says. “And strong. Not made to be hidden away from the world, unlike the two of us. She was able to see it before she died. And she was fighting for something she believed in when she died.”

“You knew her well,” the Queen says softly, and John knows they’re on the same page now.

“I would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to protect her,” he says. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t.”

* * *

She’s alive. The thought is all-consuming. He can knows his purpose, tugging, begging to be fulfilled, but Madi’s alive. And if he can assure that she’s safe, he’ll walk right up to his purpose and turn himself in. But Madi, this impossible creation, this miracle… Madi comes first. She’s too important to the world for her not to.

* * *

Flint still thinks it’s just about the war. He’s rambling about Julius and the life of the war, but there’s a buzzing in John’s ears and he barely hears him. Finally the angered tone of Flint’s voice goes away, and John can speak again.

“The number of times I have followed you blindly, backed you with the men blindly.” He knows it’s hurting Flint. They haven’t been intimate since before John almost died, and now he’s turning around and doing this. He knows he’s hurting him. Right now, he doesn’t care.  “Put men in the fucking ground--good men, friends, because you said ‘I know the way. Don’t ask me how. Just do as I say.’ I may not have understood it, I may not have supported it, but I did it. And goddammit, right now you’re going to return the favor!”

There’s a look of numb shock setting in Flint’s features. John wishes he could put the blame all on him. That there’d been a way around this.

“We will find a way to put it all back together with whatever we have left at our disposal,” John assures him desperately. “But do not ask me to choose between a war and kin. I do not think you’re going to like the answer.”

Flint blinks, the numbness fading. “Kin?” he echoes. John crumbles into the chair, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say it. It had just slipped out.

“Wait, John--are you saying Madi is like you? A manifestation of the sea?”

“Her mother is,” John says quietly, refusing to look up at Flint. “Madi is half-human, which shouldn’t be possible. She’s a miracle, Captain, and I can’t just let her die.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.” He drops his hand and looks up at Flint. His eyes are wide and pained, but John can’t focus on that right now. “Whatever must be done to secure Madi’s release, I’m going to do it.” He pushes himself back up to his feet, standing as tall as he can with the crutch supporting him. “I do not expect your understanding, but I demand your support. As my partner, as my friend…”  _ as my lover…  _ “Do I have it?”

It’s silent in the captain’s cabin for a while, while Flint continues to stare at John with the same distressed expression. A part of John wants to gather Flint in his arms and kiss him until the pain goes away, but he knows that won’t help right now. Besides. Flint is no longer his. Finally, Flint nods shortly.

“Yes.”

* * *

Flint didn’t believe him at first. John doesn’t blame him for that. But the closer they got to Savannah, the less resistant he was.

John comes to land with Hands, Morgan, and Flint. He makes sure the transaction to secure Thomas’s release goes without a hitch. He tries not to pay attention as Flint and Thomas reunite.

John can’t quite believe they’re here. At this point. He’d gotten so used to believing that his mission was impossible, that there was no way to fulfill his purpose, to have it fulfilled now is a strange feeling. Not as satisfying as he’d always expected. Of course, there was an easy explanation for that.

Flint turns away from Thomas and back to John, expression somewhere between elated and heartbroken. “Must you leave?”

“I’m resisting her call right now in order to say goodbye.”

“It isn’t fair.”

John throws up the best smile he can manage. “You have Thomas again. You don’t need me anymore.”

“But I still want you,” Flint argues, taking a step forward. John takes a step back.

“Goodbye… James,” he says. “Thank you for the adventure.”

He turns before James can respond and walks to the open ocean. As soon as his boots touch the water, he feels it, how his body slowly slips away and reunites with the sea. His last thought is of James, and how he hopes he’ll now have a better life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more short chapter that's an alternate ending.


	7. Alternative Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative ending. This is for you readers who like a more happy ending.
> 
> Though this may seem like an epilogue I chose the term alternative ending on purpose. The story actually ends in chapter 6. That is the ending. I simply wrote this part because I know some people like happier endings and wanted to give them that hope. If this was a movie, this part would not be an after-credits scene, it would be on the Blu-ray bonus features along with the deleted scenes except it would be labeled an alternative ending. This is not how the story ends, this is just a bonus to change the hopelessness of the real ending.

James is standing in the doorway again, eyes on the sea in the distance. Thomas knows what he’s looking for, and he knows James won’t find it. It makes Thomas’s heart ache to see his lover in such a state. Just as he mourns for Miranda, James mourns for John Silver. There’s no denying that they’re happy, the two of them, settled in a quiet cottage, living life as normal people. But even Thomas feels there’s something missing, and it doesn’t just have to do with the dismal look on James’s face.

“Are you sure there’s no way to bring him back?” Thomas asks, coming up beside James. James glances at him briefly before returning his gaze to the sea.

“He didn’t seem to think so.”

Thomas nods his understanding and leaves James to it.

Later that night, Thomas tells James to go on to bed without him, he has some work he’d like to finish up. James doesn’t question him. Thomas waits until he can be reasonably sure James is asleep, and then takes the trek to the beach. He gives the bottle with a note reading  _ “John Silver” _ in his hand one last look, hoping beyond all hope that this works. Then, with as much strength as he can muster, he tosses the bottle out into the sea. He treks back home and joins James in bed without a word.

The next morning, they’re just finishing up breakfast, and there’s a knock on the door.


End file.
